


The Stone Is Moved

by taichara



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 00:34:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20826413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taichara/pseuds/taichara
Summary: Yanked from his world and through time(?) besides, Duma's had a lot to think about and some uncomfortable revelations thereby.His conclusions are, perhaps, predictable in their own way.





	The Stone Is Moved

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalloway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalloway/gifts).

It was … a very different experience, being called away (he would not stoop to calling it a "summons") from Rigel by a human's importuning, but Duma took it as another chance to gather his own strength and set his irritation aside for now. Yes, to gather strength and to temper it into another crucible for his chosen people; a worthy goal, worthy of himself.

_And when the time is come, I will return to Rigel._

Would that he knew of a way to pass the wisdom he planned to gather along to the Rigelians. Alas, they learned stubborness alongside his lessons of strength, of self-reliance. Too much stubbornness? Perhaps the wrong _kind_, bullheaded obstinance where he wanted them to learn tenacity in the face of their homeland's harshness. 

_Would that I knew how to stem the coming tide._

He _wanted_ to; oh, how he wanted to. Every fibre of his being roared to take the future in his jaws and shake it to death like a cat seizing a vole, to crush that onrushing fate with the strength that was his by right and by the force of arms that even mighty Naga recognized. The future that he saw reflected in the eyes of an obsessive princeling who seemed to not recognize his god; the future that set another stolid young mortal warrior to watch him warily, hand never far from a blade Duma recognized all too well.

A future that brought, it seemed, Mila's own chosen low in the end, called to a bloody-teared madness in his name. In _his_ name! What _fools_ to throw away soul and self, to abase and lower themselves in violation of all that he taught! 

_What is strength used to defile rather than shepherd? Vile, wicked mortals --_

… It was easy, to place the blame on human weakness. Too easy. Duma rumbled, deep in his chest, displeased with his own train of thought. Too easy, and a slippery slope to weakness. It would not do.

Much of this would not do.

Well then, to other things. There were, after all, far more worthy actions than standing like a glowering statue in the Order's main hall while humans (and far too many dragons that had lessened themselves) scampered past him. Perhaps he'd have one of the stronger mortals spar with him, and he'd take their measure. Yes, that sounded pleasant, and worthwile.

Perhaps he'd challenge that retiring one with the hair like bloodied rust, and drive the point home that he should be making use of the strength that he possessed instead of shrinking away. Duma wondered, idly, if it was a more recent development and whether he couldn't make an example for the mite.

It was better than roaring at a future he refused to change --

Ah, there was the bile and the fire again. He bit it back savagely.

_I could, if I wished, leave directives for Rigel to follow until the stars fall from the skies. I am their god. I can command, and none of this will come to pass._

_I could, and I can, and the moment I do so I will make a mockery of my every belief, and I refuse. Until the stars fall from the sky, I refuse!_

_I will not hold humanity's hand. If they cannot be strong, I will not carry them. They will stand, or not, on their own merit; that is the way of the world. That is justice, and I will not be swayed --_

_Not even by my own wishes._

It was, of course, still a choice of sorts; but it was the only one that Duma was willing to abide by. He saw, after all -- amongst the weak-willed and the fallen, here in this strange and maddening place -- mortals who pushed back against fate, and honed themselves in the name of pressing forward kith and kin. That was exactly what he wanted. And if these mortals could do so, then so could -- so _should_ \-- Rigel.

Perhaps Mila would be amused. Perhaps she would think him growing soft, and mock him for it.

But that was alright.

Duma knew what the future could hold, after all.


End file.
